Caldus stares at himself in the mirror, testing the weight of the brown robes that Kadu assured him are ornamental and not a required uniform. Given that his new Cathar brother lounges most of the time in a pair of loose shorts and nothing else, Caldus is inclined to believe him. In battle, Kadu wears armour.
Caldus leans his palms against the counter and shakes his head. No, these robes do not suit him. Shrugging off the outer robe, Caldus strides to the closet in the room that he shares with Kadu, though the Cathar spends most of his time in medcenters these days. A glint catches his eye when he reaches for a hanger. The same glint that he’s ignored for three months.
After divesting everything about his formal robes, Caldus squats to study the curved crest of an relic from another life. He reaches for it, palming the domed helmet and bringing it to his face. Caldus has found acceptance here. There are no whispers when he passes. Only open curiosity and the sort of enthusiasm that comes from a building full of scholars.
Caldus senses the bright energy a heartbeat before the door to his shared room opens. Kadu lopes in with his long limbs and an exhausted sigh. The Cathar is two years Caldus’s junior, but his superior in every way. Still, they bare only healthy competition between them where the stakes were caf and pizza instead of life or death.
“I quit,” Kadu groans as he flopps onto his bed, long arms sprawled. “I hereby relinquish my role as healer and join the dregs who lounge on sandy beaches and catch sick waves.”
“No you don’t,” Caldus answers without looking at his friend. They’ve grown close in the short time that has passed. Closer than Caldus thought possible.
As Caldus eases onto his mattress across the room, Kadu rolls onto his side. “No, I don’t. But it’s a nice dream. What’s that?”
Caldus is still staring at the T-shaped visor that signifies a people not unlike his own. “A gift from an old…ally.”
“That’s the one you had the day we picked you up.” Kadu props on one elbow and waves a hand for more. “Come on, tell me a story. I’ve got another rotation in less than an hour and need someone to keep me awake.”
Caldus hunches forward, his mind spiraling towards the past. To a girl with eyes so dark blue that they look black in certain lights. “It’s an inside joke,” Caldus begins, turning the faceplate toward Kadu to display it properly. “A way to own the thing that the Sith used against me."
“Ready to go, partner?” Fynta shoves into his room, her energy crackling like the electricity that Caldus is all too good at summoning. She bounces on her toes, the light catching on the parts of her amour where the paint is scuffed down to the metal.
Caldus fumbles for his half-helm, unwilling to be caught without its limited protection from unfriendly eyes. Even hers. Though Fynta has only asked made wild guesses about his species, each more outlandish than the last. Still, she too is training to be Sith.
“You realize they are only pairing us in the hopes that one of us doesn’t come back.” Caldus swivels to face her, his sort of friend. She only grins in response. She knows the laws of this world better than him. She’s certainly adapted better.
“Which reminds me.” Fynta flounces towards his desk, ignoring the differences in their sizes because it truly makes no difference. They have been equally matched since the second month of training. Each loss suffered from their singular rivalry alone. It sets them apart from their peers, and not always in the best manner.
Fynta stops directly in front of Caldus as he rises, her head even with his chest. She cranes her neck, grin stretching wider. “I got you something.”
The box makes him step back, instantly wary of what it might hold on the eve of such an important mission. The girl sighs and rips the top off as if offended by his suspicion. She might be. It occurs to Caldus too late that if Fynta plans to kill him, she’d make a spectacle of it. “Here, you oversized beast.”
Caldus grunts at the force with which the box is shoved against his torso. Inside rests a helmet with full T-shaped faceplate and large tusks that curve away from the jaw. He lets the box fall away, admiring the craftsmanship that went into this piece.
“You like it?” Fynta asks, bouncing on her toes to see over his elbow. “I had my brother commission it from a proper smith.”
'Proper' no doubt means Mandalorian. She carries on, unencumbered by his thoughts. “They worked in extra space and a ventilation system that help mando’ad with your particular…sensibilities.”
Claustrophobia.
He supposes it’s only natural for smiths of a civilization built around this unique aspects to have one or two among their ranks with inconvenient phobias.
Before Caldus can thank her, Fynta takes the helmet from his hands and plops it onto her head. It wobbles comically, far too big but he appreciates the effort of ensuring him there are no traps. When she removes it, Fynta holds it out, but her fingers only tighten when he takes hold. “Own who you are, Caldus. If they want a monster, give them one.”
She lets go, reaching around the curved tusks to place her hand against his chest. “It’s all an act, anyway.”
“Your friend sounds wise,” Kadu yawns, blinking slowly at Caldus from where his arm has slid out from beneath him with his head pillowed on one bicep.
Caldus snorts. Fynta was a lot of things, but wise had never been one of the many accusations hurled at her. “I left without saying goodbye.” He turns the helmet over so that he’s staring into the faceplate, his reflection warped by the dust of living in the back of his closet. “I often wonder if she would have joined us.”
Kadu rolls onto his back, speaking while he stares at the ceiling. “You should wear that instead of the half-helm.”
Caldus nods, having thought the same thing so many times. It had been fitted to his measurements, though the crafty girl had never admitted to how she’d gotten them. Caldus wore it only once on their mission and the effect had been profound. While Republic soldiers battled valiantly, many surrendered when he came into view. Fynta and Caldus had left those chained together with the relief of fewer deaths on his conscience.
Afterward, he's put it away. The sense of power it gave him, to have hardened soldiers, med twice his age, cowering before him had been terrifying. Now, he realized what a gift that had been. To detain them instead of murder.
“Is that why you don’t?” Kadu asks, and Caldus is suddenly reminded of their master and the skilled way she wrings answers from people.
Even knowing what Kadu is doing, Caldus answers with a long sigh. “I’m not sure I deserve to. She gave me a gift that would have changed the way other acolytes viewed me. I repaid her by running away and leaving her to their cruelty.”
When Kadu answers, it is opposite of what Master Carlo would likely say. He rolls back onto his side, head once more propped on his fist. “It sounds like she would call you a coward and probably throw you to the mat again.” The Cathar flashes sharp teeth in a wicked grin, drawing a laugh from Caldus.
“You are surprisingly intuitive my friend.” Caldus takes a deep breath, then settles the helmet over his head. The HUD lights, blinking once then sputtering, before booting up properly. The ventilation fans kick on to provide fresh air when his heart rate kicks up and Caldus reminds himself to breath.
After a moment to acclimate, Caldus faces his friend. “Well, how do I look?”
Huge shout out to @kunoichi-ume who gifted me this set so that Caldus could have his in game tusks! Thank you!
“Help me understand.” The woman’s voice is calm, barely above a whisper but, Caldus feels it in his soul. She emanates peace and serenity, two things he’s been seeking for the better part of three years. Maybe his entire life.
The young Cathar sitting to Caldus’s left fidgets, then seems to remember himself and goes still. He’s a skinny thing, all arms and spindly limbs compared to Caldus’s bulk. There’s a gleam in the boy’s flame colored eyes that warns Caldus that he might not be as young as he looks.
“Let’s start with your name.” Hers is Jedi Master Notiac Carlo. She is soft, colored like a summer sunset of Caldus’s homeworld. Her curls drape gracefully over slim shoulders, but there is an air of power about her. It’s different from the Sith. They are bravado and rage. The Force presence that Caldus senses in Master Carlo is like a warm breeze over a field of flowers. It could gust into violence, but for now, it is calm.
“My name is Caldus,” he begins, staring down at the helmet in his hands. It was all he managed to grab before fleeing Korriban. He couldn’t bear to part with it, nor could he put it on. This helmet, with its artfully swept forward tusks and intimidating crest symbolizes everything he hates; that he’s afraid of. It also symbolizes friendship born in the fires of trauma and inside jokes; a small kindness in a sea of madness. He is proud to own it, but he’s ashamed that he left the giver behind.
Taking a shuddering breath, Caldus forges on. “I am—was—a Sith acolyte awaiting to be chosen by a master. They found me on a docking platform at the edge of the galaxy and stole me for their own. When I met the Jedi captive, my task was to feed him information that would influence the positioning of Republic military forces to open the way for a Sith invasion.”
“You didn’t do that,” Master Carlo says, her head tilted to one side. She wears a mask over her eyes. It’s simple, yet elegant, with pearls and beads accentuating the lines of her face.
Caldus can’t hold her gaze. Though her eyes remain hidden from him, he can feel her attention. Instead, he rubs his thumb over a scratch in his hamlet’s surface. He wonders idly why they let him keep this one, with it’s sharp points and menacing edges, but took the other. “I did. Then, I decided to go with him.”
Events had moved quickly after that. Caldus and the Jedi prisoner snuck onto a transport under the guise of an escort mission. Then found an escape pod, and the Jedi activated a beacon after they had drifted far enough. Master Carlo and her Padawan had answered the call with a contingency of political statesmen and a full platoon of special forces soldiers. Caldus had not resisted when they surrounded him.
“Do you wish to join the Jedi?” She asks.
It’s the question Caldus knew would come, yet he still doesn’t have an answer. He had joined the docking crews who flew merchants to distant colonies to pedal their wares to get away from Orsimer Prime. He can’t crawl back to his tribe as a failure. They would accept him, but Caldus’s pride would forever keep his eyes to the ground. Better to stay out here and find his way. At least with the Jedi, he wouldn’t be forced to murder innocents to cater the favor of madmen.
Caldus tucks the helmet into his lap and looks up at the woman. His half-helm had been confiscated upon his arrest, leaving his unique features exposed. Neither the woman nor the Cathar appeared concerned by the tusks jutting from his lower lip or the claws tipping his fingers. He supposed the Cathar, at least, wasn’t intimidated by those.
“Would I be welcome?” Caldus counters after the silence drags on for too long. “I was trained to be Sith, and I am liable to stand out in your ranks.”
“Would you prefer not to?” Master Carlo holds out one hand to her Padawan, Caldus’s half-helm appearing seemingly from nowhere. His fingers itch to grab it as it hovers into her waiting grasp. A test, most likely.
Clearing his throat, Caldus nods. “I prefer a certain level of anonymity.”
“Then you’ll have it.” The woman holds out the helm.
Caldus hesitates, reaching out with his senses for any sign of a trap. When he finds none, he carefully lifts it from her hand and places it over his head. The familiar brush of fabric against the bridge of his nose eases some of the dread sitting in his chest. With his eyes and large ears hidden, he could pass for any number of large species known to the greater galaxy.
“I will not murder with the Force,” Caldus states, emboldened by the return of his flimsy shield. Before the Sith, he used his abilities to make work easier on the dock. He shifted heavy cargo and performed amusing tricks. The Sith wanted him to turn that gift into a weapon against nulls. There was no honor in it. Caldus would fight with his sword, a blaster, or his fists. But he refuses to wield against another living being ever again.
“We would not presume to infringe on your religious customs.” This from the Padawan who now leaned forward with his forearms braced on his thighs. An intricate pattern of darker lines marks the fur around his eyes, nose, and mouth. Perhaps, after some time around beings less humanoid than the ones in the Sith ranks, Caldus might be comfortable baring his uniqueness to the galaxy too.
Even with most of his face covered, Caldus’s surprise must be evident because Master Carlo chuckles and Caldus is momentarily distracted by the beauty of the sound. There is no malice in it, just the amusement of a woman who has seen far stranger things than him. “Kadu has made a point to research our more obscure neighbors. He wishes to be a healer, and thus he learns everything he can about the races he might encounter. Your kind is known to us, Caldus. You are welcome and safe.”
Caldus nods, his throat suddenly too tight to speak. Only one person has taken the time to learn about him in recent years, and he isn’t sure whether it is because she was working an angle or because they are friends—were friends, he supposes. It is unlikely that she’ll forgive him for abandoning her.
The woman stands from the stool she’d placed in front of Caldus for their conversation and stretches her back. From this angle, he sees the signs of age around her mouth and under her chin. She too is older than she appears. “If you do not wish to be the aggressor,” she begins, tipping the mask in his direction. “How do you feel about being the shield?”
“Like, protecting people?” It’s a stupid question, but Caldus needs a clear answer before he agrees.
Master Carlo nods, a smile pulling at her lips like he will be a particularly fascinating puzzle. It’s Kadu who speaks, though. “Who do you think would be best to teach him?” Those flame bright eyes turn towards Caldus, weighing him with experience that Kadu looks too young to have. “Shielding is tricky, but if you are willing to put in the work—”
“I will,” Master Carlo answers before Kadu finishes his sentence. “You will soon be leaving me to practice with the medical universities. I have the flexibility for a second Padawan if we play our cards right.”
Caldus’s attention bounces back and forth between his new allies while they discuss his future. Hope tugs at his ribs, urging him to take this chance. He’s escaped the Sith, if things turn sour, he can escape the Jedi as well. “I agree,” Caldus blurts into their conversation before he can talk himself out of it. He’s lost out here with nowhere else to go anyway. Maybe this can be the way he atones for the wrongs he’s committed.
The Sith taught him to destroy. Now, Caldus will learn to preserve.
*Caldus is my new guy based on a fanmade race called Orcolans. I didn’t make them, but so much work and love obviously went into their creation that it felt wrong not to use it after I stumbled across them. Obviously, swtor doesn’t have that option, so Caldus got a fancy half-helm so that he could still show off his lovely beard. Eventually, he’ll move to a full helmet to avoid stares and awkward conversations.
**He was 19 years old when he escaped the Sith and fell into the Barsen’thor’s lap quite literally. This probably won’t turn into a full story, but be a fun little world for me to play in. It’s an offshoot of the Sith Fynta AU. So…and AU of an AU?
***This was meant to be a 500 word quick drabble….it grew.
Took me a hot minute but how about a peek inside: SWTOR Fynta's speeder trunk, XIV Fynta's fridge, BG3 Fynta's bag, and New Guy's pockets!
Ha! these are excellent. Thanks!
SWTOR Fynta's speeder trunk:
This greatly depends on the time of life and the type of speeder. Back in her bounty hunter (maybe SIS too) days, there was likely to be a body in there of dubious viability and a spare set of clothes for a quick getaway.
After the better influence of Havoc Squad, you'd likely find spare blasters, explosives, some MREs, water (alcohol in water bottles...) and a bag full of unmarked credits just in case.
XIV Fynta's fridge:
Fynta was a couch crasher for much of her ffxiv career. Given that she was one of Thancred's agents, she never settled. Friends and begrudging allies often sheltered her for the days between missions, not to mention sleeping at the Waking Sands. In a move that surprised everyone, most of all Fynta, Isashi (My WOL since 2015) left everything to her when she died. Including a fully furnished apartment. This came with all the delicacies that Isashi loved (she was a purveyor of the fine things, especially food). Fynta and Kirin burned through those pretty quickly and then replaced it all with takeout from a back alley tavern in Kukane and beer.
BG3 Fynta's bag:
Thanks to mods, Fynta has a bag of holding, which is a terrible thing for Fynta to have. Items include, but are not limited to: A Troll's big toe, lots of gold, plenty of ale, her ole eye (we don't talk about Volo), a ridiculous number of weapons, a goblin shield with some creatively lewd elf graffiti on it, Halsin's pipe (she stole it, he never mentioned it, somehow everyone forgot about it), Netti's wyvern poison, Scratch's ball, some old meat that she meant to give to the Owlbear cub but should probably throw out, that necklace that Verin has been looking for to placate Keshal with.... there is more, but I think we get the picture.
New Guy's pockets:
New guy has a name now! His name is Caldus, and he has nothing in his pockets because Fynta is a better thief than he is a sentinel. If he HAD caught her before she pick-pocketed him, Caldus would have had a small knife and block of wood (he whittles, usually other sharp things), enough gold to stay comfortably at an inn but not so much that it hurts terribly when he gets pick-pocketed, a silver septum ring that he refuses to comment on, a pad and paper for making lists, because he really likes marking things off of them. And a threatening note addressed to Fynta to that says "Stay out of my pants, woman!" Which is how he FINDS all of his stuff again, by following the laughter.
These were so much fun, thank you. If anyone else wants to shoot me some prompts, you can find the list HERE
